Responsible for Fate
by hidden-in-a-tree
Summary: Is anyone truly responsible for fate? Nick tries to grapple with the accident that left the man he loved in the hospital, and no one knows if Greg will survive the night. Oneshot. Angst/Drama/Tragedy. Nick/Greg. Nick's POV. Slash.


**Author's Note: **Oneshot. Angst/Drama/Tragedy. Nick/Greg. Nick's POV. Slash.

**Disclaimer: **I own none of the characters mentioned.

**Acknowledgements: **As always, a sincere thank-you goes to Amanda for proofreading.

**Summary: **Is anyone truly responsible for fate? Nick tries to grapple with the accident that left the man he loved in the hospital, and no one knows if Greg will survive the night.

**Responsible for Fate**

The screaming of the ambulance, the jerking motion of the vehicle, and the sight of Greg's bloodied and unmoving face made Nick's eyesight blur, and made his head ache. He reached out a trembling hand to touch Greg's limp and bruised wrist, but a paramedic got in the way, fiddling with something that Nick didn't know about.

The paramedics were calling to each other, yelling out words that had no meaning for Nick. He couldn't think of anything except the blank, chilling gaze of the man he loved. The man who was dying in front of his eyes. And this could all be traced back to when it all went wrong …

_**Two Hours Ago**_

"But why the hell are you thinking of moving back to Texas?" Greg screamed, throwing his hands up in the air. His eyes were just black holes, his face bright red in the fluorescent glow of their kitchen.

"I told you. My mom needs help at the ranch, seeing as how my dad hurt himself. He can't manage it on his own anymore. Neither of them can."

Greg dropped like a stone onto the chair that was in front of the kitchen table. "Why can't your sisters come back and help? Why does it have to be you?"

Nick sighed, praying for patience, and hoping that this would all go away. "Because, Greg. They have husbands, children, and their own lives. Cisco can't—my dad just can't uproot them like that."

Greg ran a hand over his face, an extremely weary expression in his eyes. "But Nick, what about us?"

"I don't know," Nick answered honestly, closing his eyes.

"Can't they hire someone?" Greg said, exhaling loudly in frustration.

"That's not the point, G! It's the fact that they _asked_ me to. I'm not going to say 'no' to my family. No matter what the cost is to me."

"But Nick!" Greg exclaimed, jumping to his feet, "I'm not ready to let you go! And just up and leaving for Texas? Who knows how long you'd be there! I can't do that! And—and I just can't go with you. I can't desert the team like that."

Nick turned around slowly, a pleading look in his mahogany brown eyes. "But Greg, it's my family, I just can't—"

"Nick, the team _is _my family, too," the younger man replied slowly, crossing his arms over his chest. A deadly silence fell over the pair, each of them glaring daggers at each other.

"Then I guess we won't be together after I leave, then," Nick muttered, his words slurring, the tears prickling unshed on his eyes.

"I guess we won't."

Nick's heart shattered fully in his chest. He gasped for air, tears streaming from his eyes, but he didn't speak. What was there to say?

Greg turned away from Nick, his back to him. "What's the point in staying together until then?"

Nick's mouth fell open, all air gone out of his lungs. Had those words physically punched him in the stomach?

The younger man turned back to Nick, a fire smoldering in his still coal-black eyes. "What's the point in staying together until then, Nick?"

The Texan couldn't speak. Senselessly, he tried to force the words out. Tried to put up some sort of front, tried to make Greg see.

"Nick, if you are going to be leaving for Texas, then we're finished now. And I need to know, what's your decision?"

The tears were choking him, drowning him, but somehow Nick found the words he was fighting to say: "They're my family, Greg."

"Then I guess you aren't a part of mine anymore," Greg replied coldly, turning on his heel and exiting the house.

_**Present**_

Nick sat unmoving on a cold, plastic chair. An extremely uncomfortable cold, plastic chair, but he barely even noticed. All he could think about was Greg. How this was all his fault. If only …

A nurse calmly walked up to him, her face arranged in a soothing way. "Sir, do you have anyone to stay with you?"

Nick just stared at her blearily, not comprehending what she was saying. Her face was blurred in front of his eyes.

"Sir?"

Who could he call? He knew all his friends would rush over to him, to be here for him, and to be here for Greg, too, but could he make the call?

Warrick's friendly and caring face flashed in his mind, and it forced Nick to calm down a bit. He looked up at the nurse, and he nodded once.

"You do?"

"Uhh … yes, I'm—I'm going to call him right now."

The nurse gazed at him unblinking for a second, then smiled in a motherly fashion. "Alright. If you need anything, I'm just down the hall at the nursing station. My name is Judy, by the way."

Nick nodded as he fished his cell phone out of his pocket. Subconsciously, his finger dialed the number, his mind whirring at how he was supposed to break the news. What was he going to say?

"Hey buddy," Warrick's smooth and rich voice answered. His voice was pleasant, and Nick felt horrible as he realized that this call was going to change everything.

"Nick, you there?"

The Texan took a deep, steadying breath. "I'm here."

"Nick, what's wrong?"

"It's Greg—he—he was hurt, badly," Nick whispered, covering his face with his hand, his lips trembling and his vision blurring once again.

"Nicky, where are you?" Warrick asked, his voice still strong, but Nick could hear the anxiety underneath the cool exterior.

"Sunrise Hospital," Nick finally managed to get out.

"Okay Nick. I'm going to be right there, and I'll get the others, too. You can't be alone through this."

"Okay," Nick mumbled, his voice choked with sobs. He heard Warrick take a deep breath.

"Nick," Warrick started, his voice slow, "did they say how bad it was?"

Nick's body was wracked with heart-wrenching sobs. It took a minute before he could answer. "They say … they say he's dying. They said he won't live to see the morning."

Nick was in a deep, heavy, unthinking stupor, still sitting on the same chair, when two strong hands came out of nowhere, shaking him by the shoulders.

"Nicky, you with me?" Warrick asked worriedly.

"Do you know if he's had anything to eat or drink in a while?" a male voice, higher, asked.

"I don't know," Warrick replied.

Two arms reached out, enveloping Nick in a comforting hug. Nick smelled a floral shampoo; it had to be Catherine.

"It's going to be okay, Nicky," she murmured, her words cracking with restrained emotion.

Another hand grasped his left shoulder, and Nick finally focused on who the other man was: Grissom. But this wasn't the Grissom Nick knew and respected.

This Grissom had a strained, horribly distorted look on his face. His eyes were red; his mouth had the slightest tremor to it. This was the look of someone about to break, but now allowing himself to do so.

The look on his mentor's face made Nick burst into tears again, burying his face into Catherine's leather jacket.

"Shhh … it's okay, Nick. We're here, now. It's going to be okay," she told him, trying to soothe him.

"It's not going to be okay," Nick spluttered, pulling back from her. "He's dying in there, and no one can save him. He's dying, and—and it's all my fault!"

"How do you figure that, Nick?" Warrick questioned him, lowering himself down onto the seat beside his best friend. "You didn't push him in front of that drunk driver. How can it be your fault?"

"We … we had a fight, just before he left," the Texan said, swallowing. He didn't want to let his fear come out, but … "We had a fight before he left the house. I was telling Greg that—that I was probably moving back to Texas to help my folks, and he … he said that if I left, we were through. He didn't want me to leave. If I hadn't even brought it up, none of this would have happened. He wouldn't have gone for a walk, he wouldn't have been mad, he wouldn't have walked across the street without looking, he—"

"Nick, listen to me," Grissom said sternly, kneeling down in front of him, "this was not your fault. Fights happen. Doing things without thinking happens. You didn't do this to Greg, and he knows this wasn't your fault. He won't blame you. We don't blame you. You shouldn't blame yourself, either."

"But I do," Nick said softly, the tears bubbling over his lower eyelashes again, making him close his eyes, praying that everything would just go back to normal. But right now, God wasn't listening.

_**Three Months Later**_

Nick sat on the bed alone. The room was brightly lit from the scorching desert sun, and it was filtering in through the open bay window. The white, billowing curtains were thrown back, allowing the sunlight to chase the darkness from every corner of the light blue room. Sighing, Nick put his head back onto his plaid pillow, his eyes roving the white ceiling.

He still couldn't believe it. This … this couldn't have happened. Nick's life was forever changed, forever scarred, and who knew how long it would take to heal?

The tears were back again. Just remembering the blank horror of that night three months ago. It had been pure torture, just waiting for Greg to come out of surgery. He technically died twice that night. His heart had stopped once in the middle of the surgery, and once at the end. But, somehow, he pulled through. The surgeons had repaired his punctured lung, his ruptured spleen and fixed his four broken ribs and his broken hip bone. They also treated the swelling of Greg's brain, and had put a metal plate at the base of his skull. The doctors didn't know for sure what made Greg go into cardiac arrest, but they did say that if it happened again right after the surgery, they didn't know if the CSI Level One would be okay after being resuscitated four times in the short span of a day.

The doctors didn't think Greg could survive the surgery, but somehow he didn't die—permanently—on the operating table. Somehow.

Nick could remember going into Greg's room and seeing him lying there, still unmoving, on the hospital bed. His body was almost completely wrapped up in plaster, his face just a blue, black and purple mess. All those machines around him, monitoring him, watching him.

He could still hear Catherine's gut-wrenching sobs, could still perfectly hear Grissom's intake of breath, and he could still feel Warrick's hand on his arm. But the one thing he didn't hear was Greg saying his name as he entered the room. Greg wasn't even conscious.

They all took turns staying with Greg, but Nick never left his side. He had always been there, watching over the man he loved, like a guardian angel. But unlike a guardian angel, he couldn't save him.

Somehow Greg survived the night. He still hadn't woken up, but he kept on living. Everyone heard his labored breathing, but they knew he was fighting, but for how long? How long before he gave up? Before he gave up on everything … gave up on Nick?

Two weeks after Greg had been put into Intensive Care, his bed was suddenly empty. New sheets were being put on, new pillow covers. New everything.

Greg no longer belonged there, among the deathly ill and the dying.

Nick wrenched himself out of his thoughts. Why couldn't he just let go of his memories? Why couldn't he focus on the now, the present, and, eventually, the future? It was over. Enough tears had been shed, and now … now was the time to move past that event. Past … everything.

Suddenly a figure in a wheelchair appeared at the door, a bright smile on his cheerful face. "Nicky, will you make me some soup? I'm kind of hungry."

Nick smiled through his tears. He got to his feet and went to the other man. He knelt down, kissing Greg on the forehead. "Of course. What flavor?"

"Chicken, of course."

After just two weeks Greg had been awake and thriving. He was able to move out of I.C and into a more stable ward. He was healing. He was living again.

And after just three months, he went to physiotherapy to get his legs back into working condition. He could breathe almost normally again, and he no longer complained of headaches. He had never even mentioned his heart hurting once. Life was getting back to normal.

Nick knew he couldn't have done all this alone. He smiled as he busied himself in the kitchen. All the support he had received from Catherine, Warrick and Grissom had been amazing. They always seemed to be in his house nowadays, helping with the odd chore and just being here. Sara had also come back for a brief while, staying in Nick's living room a few nights before going off again.

When Nick knew that Greg was going to be alright, he had called his sister Melinda and had explained the situation, and she had told her little brother to stay in Las Vegas, that she would move back home.

"You're place is with Greg," she had said, and Nick knew it was the truth.

"Soup's ready!" Nick called over his shoulder about fifteen minutes later, drifting in and out of his memories.

Greg wheeled over, grabbing his tray. "Good, I was gettin' hungry."

Nick ladled him some soup, then sat down beside him, just gazing at the younger man. Greg tried to ignore it as he ate, but he couldn't for long.

"What?" Greg finally asked, putting the spoon down onto the tray.

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry about the whole fight thing … you know, the one that—"

"There's no need to apologize, Nick. Couples fight. It's only natural," Greg replied nonchalantly.

"No, I know, but if I hadn't—"

"Nick, don't even think of blaming yourself. If you are, just stop right now. This wasn't your fault. No one knew this was going to happen. You can't blame yourself. You can't keep every bad thing away from the people you love, Nick. You aren't God. You aren't responsible for this, and I don't blame you. I don't blame anyone for this. Well, I could blame the drunk driver, but I guess I—"

Nick stopped him by putting a finger to Greg's lips. A light smile was playing on the Texan's mouth. "Greg, I love you. I'm so glad you're okay. I thought I was going to lose you."

Greg pulled Nick's hand away. "Nick, I'd never stop fighting to be with you. Nothing could have kept me away from being with you. I'll always be here for you, always."

Nick swallowed, but didn't reply. He let Greg finish his soup in peace, thinking his own thoughts, until the younger man spoke again.

"Mmm. That really was some good soup, Nick. I am _so_ happy that I'm done with hospital food. I could have died from that stuff."

Nick burst out laughing, which made them both go into hysterics, and soon they were both clutching their sides.

"Greg," Nick finally choked out, tears running down his cheeks, "I'm so glad you're home."


End file.
